


Two Roads

by villainessy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villainessy/pseuds/villainessy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there's a fork in the road, I'll do as I'm told</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Roads

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by brittaperry on tumblr as a part of drabble meme.

He sits at his desk, bruised and bloodied after the attack, and only raises his head when you walk in. Empathy tugs at your strings and before you know it, you’re next to him, trying to gauge the damage on his face until you force yourself to take more professional position.

.

He’s at his desk as you circle the room. The place looks completely trashed and it hits you that it was a preppy wine connoisseur who put up this much of a fight against a skilled serial killer. You look back to him and when your eyes meet you immediately expect the wonted stir of empathy and flashbacks. They don’t come. Something is amiss, your mind tells you, but you can’t figure out what. It must be the pills talking.

.

He says he doesn’t blame you for what happened.

.

He says he doesn’t blame you for what happened and you flinch in response, confused about would he imply your guilt in the first place.

.

Barely five days pass and you sit against each other in this very room, already fixed, already pristine, soothingly familiar. You tell your share of mundane rambling complains. He listens patiently. No one would be able to tell he could have died right here because instead of catching the killer you went off on a search for imaginary animals.

.

Doctor Lecter is as composed during your session as if nothing happened five days ago. You start wondering if it’s a part of his defense mechanism, just the way he deals with trauma. He uses the word ‘examination’ when he mentions that Jack likes to know how your meetings progress. He changes the subject after noticing your glare.

.

You ask him about your medication. You ask for something new. Something stronger. He’s concerned, but writes down the prescription anyway.

.

You turn the bottle of anti-anxiety medication in your hand and count the ways in which the treatment is not working. Resigned, you put it back on shelf, deciding to get off pills for a bit.

.

“Where’s your head, Will?” Jack _seems_ worried but you know better. You scream at him, you bring up how he spied on your meetings with Hannibal, how he forced you to look over and over and over again until you couldn’t stop seeing things. In the corner of your eye you catch Alana’s shocked face, she’s never seen you like this. You’ve never seen yourself like this.

.

“I didn’t experience any hallucination in a long time,” you say during a session. “Sleepwalking?”, he prompts and you shake your head. Something flashes in his eyes, like… disbelief? It aggravates you enough to add, “Ever since I stopped taking the meds _you_ prescribed.” The implication makes itself inadvertently clear in your voice. It’s not too late to take it back, but you let it hang in the air anyway. He cocks his head, watching you with a long, scrutinizing gaze. “Perhaps it’s for the best to focus solely on our conversations for now,” he says meekly and once again you’re amazed at this man’s malleability.

.

You don’t know when exactly it happened, but he’s the only person you feel you can trust anymore. He accepts you for who -what- you are.

.

Chesapeake Ripper is back and so is Jack’s paranoia. Your mind, on the other hand, seems clear and sharp without the haze of medication.

.

Your fingers dig into the warm flesh and rip it straight from the cavity. Blood trickles down your forearm, pours on the table and floor as you held the heart up, _drip-drip-dripping_ in mesmerizing patterns.

.

If there’s one thing your mind still uses to play tricks with you, it’s the damn dreams. The raven-feathered stag looks at you, watchful and quiet; it cocks his head to the side and the move looks comically human.

.

You wake up, wincing and pushing covers off himself, certain they must be soaked with sweat. The sheets are dry.

.

You wake up and _you know_.


End file.
